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Aventurine feels pathetic.
He doesn’t often feel this pathetic, but he’s always on the precipice. And sometimes, some days, it takes very little to push him over the edge.
It's not a new feeling, Aventurine has known all his life that he would never shake the guilt and disgust and fear left over from surviving. From simply existing when everyone else is gone. Dead. And he isn’t even allowed to join them because his cursed blessing won’t let him die too.
He’s gotten slightly better at dealing with it though. Days like this are less common now. Ratio recommended a few therapists and a few books and Aventurine hates to give him the satisfaction by telling him that they might be working, but he thinks they might be working.
This morning though, Aventurine woke up feeling like shit.
He took a shower feeling like shit. He got dressed feeling like shit. He went to work feeling like shit. And when he was done, finally able to clock out and he was standing on the pavement outside the office… he just felt hollow. Like every little thing that made him whole had been taken from him, leaving him an empty, lonely, hollow shell of a person. Barely real. Barely even alive.
He let his feet guide him through the city, barely thinking about where he was going or what he wanted, and ended up here.
Outside Sugilite's apartment.
Huh.
Strange that his unconscious mind would bring him here, he thinks, studying the door like it might tell him why he came here.
Sugilite wasn't someone he went to for comfort. He was someone he went to take his mind off of things. Someone who knew how to touch him to shut up the noisy part of his brain. But Aventurine didn’t want that today. Didn’t want sex or violence or mean words, he just wanted to fall asleep and hope tomorrow would be better.
They had never really been close enough for Aventurine to want this-- but then, after a whole year and a bit of hookups and nights sleeping together and waking up curled around each other, perhaps Aventurine has started to view Sugilite as more than that. More than just someone who could hurt him.
He knocks on the door, despite the doorbell at the side. If Sugilite doesn't hear him, he'll leave. Simple as that. He shouldn’t be here in the first place anyway. If Sugilite wants to bring him in and treat him like normal, he’ll take that too. Even if he doesn’t want the sex-- simply for the touch of another person.
A part of him hopes he doesn't hear the door. A part of him hopes he does.
Aventurine doesn't know what he wants from Sugilite anymore.
After a minute of silence, the door opens.
Sugilite looks at him curiously, dressed only in a loose pair of grey sweatpants, sitting low on his hips. Aventurine feels bad, he was clearly not expecting anyone. He studies Aventurine with a frown, words on the tip of his tongue that he never speaks.
And then he steps to the side of the hallway with a shrug, silently inviting Aventurine in.
That feels strange. Not being questioned-- especially by Sugilite. He would normally get some teasing remark about Aventurine missing him, or not being able to get enough of him (and he’d be right, of course, but Aventurine would never admit that) but to hear him so silent feels wrong.
But Sugilite's apartment is warm, compared to the chilly air of the night outside and the slightly warmer, but still cool air of the corridor. Sugilite likes comfort. He likes his luxuries. He doesn’t care about heating or water bills, but no Stoneheart really has to. They're all rich enough that they don’t even need to check how much they have in the bank each month. Aventurine remembers when he first joined the IPC, living paycheck to paycheck for a few months before he finally understood how to earn his keep. He doesn’t have to do that anymore.
Aventurine stands there awkwardly as Sugilite locks the door again. Entirely aware that he didn't ask to come over and he didn't tell Sugilite he was coming. He just showed up. And now he feels bad about that too.
The silence feels too thick to break with an apology though and Sugilite doesn't seem to be looking for one. It's not like either of them to be so quiet.
So Aventurine stands there in silence and follows him when he leaves the hallway for the kitchen. He watches as Sugilite picks up a half empty glass of wine, and follows him again to the couch.
There's some kind of documentary paused on the TV when Sugilite sits down, glass of wine in hand like there's nothing strange going on at all.
And Aventurine stands at the end of the couch as Sugilite rolls his shoulders and settles back down, half laid out as he plays the documentary again, sipping at his drink. The rest of the bottle standing on the coffee table, ready to refill his glass.
He feels out of place.
He shouldn't be here, Sugilite doesn't want him here. He had plans for his evening, plans that didn’t involve Aventurine, plans that he’s never been a part of before-- he’s never seen this side of Sugilite before, and he probably wasn’t supposed to--
As if hearing his thoughts, Sugilite looks over his shoulder, at Aventurine hovering nervously, but he doesn’t look upset.
“Go shower and change,” Sugilite says quietly. Aventurine could almost believe he cares.
It's still nice, still makes him feel warm and wanted and for a moment it quiets the little nagging voice in his head.
Aventurine knows the way around Sugilite's apartment now. He knows where he keeps the spare clothes for him, clothes that are much too small to ever be worn by Sugilite himself.
When he first found them, Aventurine couldn't help the jealousy it stirred in him. Sugilite owning clothes that don't fit him, meant they were someone elses-- but he's never had the right to be jealous over Sugilite. They're not together, they've never spoken about exclusivity. They just sleep together sometimes.
(Even though these clothes weren't here when Aventurine started coming over, and they're all perfect for him. The style, the right material, the right fit. All perfect for him.)
Sugilite's bathroom is massive, as big as Aventurine’s own (because they're both rich enough to live in fancy penthouse apartments) but it somehow feels more luxurious. Tastefully expensive and gold and white marble. A beautifully spotless mirror, the full, horizontal length of the wall across from the shower.
Aventurine doesn't like the mirror, but only because he isn't always a fan of looking at himself.
Sugilite loves it because it means he can watch as he fucks Aventurine against the shower wall.
Aventurine tries not to think about that as he strips off and slips under the water. Turning the temperature as high as he can until it burns his skin. Sugilite doesn’t seem interested in fucking him, which is normally priority number one when Aventurine comes over, but he isn’t about to complain about that.
The heat is a delicious reprieve from his racing mind.
Aventurine doesn't know how long he stands under the water, letting it run over his back and shoulders until his skin is raw and red. It doesn’t really help, but he feels ever so slightly more alive than he did before, when he steps out and dries off with one of Sugilite's stupidly soft towels.
He drops it on the floor when he's done, hoping to feel a sliver of his usual, petty, bratty-ness, but nothing comes and he leaves without picking it up. If it pisses Sugilite off later, he'll deal with it then.
Aventurine dresses slowly, in a shirt and sweatpants that are slightly too big for him. But in an oversized, comfortable way, not someone else's clothes that don’t quite fit kind of way. Nothing of Sugilite’s would fit him anyway, he's just too tall.
The TV is playing low when Aventurine wanders bare foot back down the hallway. The carpet is soft. The air is warm. He still feels bad, but he doesn't feel awful.
Aventurine doesn't know what documentary Sugilite is watching, something that seems to be historical. Something about the economy on a planet Aventurine can’t pinpoint. It's not about Pier Point, he can tell that much, but he isn't trying to take it in when he stands there at the end of the couch where Sugilite props his head up.
He's laid out so comfortably. Everything Aventurine is not. So easy in his own skin, so confident and collected. Drinking wine, lit up by only the light of the screen.
“What are you doing?” Sugilite asks him, looking at Aventurine over his shoulder again. He's still quiet though, like he wants to keep the peace he set up for the evening. Even Aventurine's presence won't disrupt that, apparently.
Aventurine thinks Sugilite sounds soft. Softer than normal. He doesn’t normally talk to Aventurine like this, he doesn't usually leave him be without teasing or being mean.
Aventurine can't seem to find any words to speak. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t know what to say.
“Pet?” Sugilite asks him, still quietly, as quiet as the TV on in the background. He puts his glass of wine down on the table with a clink. “Come here,” he says.
Aventurine has heard him say that before, so many times he can't keep count. Sugilite loves ordering him around, but this isn't ordering. Or, it is, but it's gentle in a way Sugilite never has been before.
Aventurine does as he's told, because he isn't sure what else to do. Walking around to the front of the couch, taking the hand that Sugilite holds out for him and climbing onto it.
He sinks in, crawling between Sugilite's legs and settling himself on the man's chest with a quiet rush of breath that seems to take all of is remaining energy with it.
Even though his hair is damp, Sugilite doesn't complain.
He normally would. Normally he would push Aventurine away and tell him to dry his hair. Normally, Sugilite would have called him an uncooperative brat by now for being so quiet. Normally…
Aventurine would not have come here looking for comfort.
Perhaps on a normal day, he would not have found it here even if he had tried. He doesn’t know what makes this day so different.
Sugilite’s heartbeat is quiet and rhythmic. Regular and settling. Aventurine listens to it as he rests his head, eyes watching the documentary but mind far away.
It’s nice. He’s warm, he’s comfortable, laying on his co-worker/friend/not-quite-partner’s chest and stomach. Surrounded by the vague scent of citrus and wine as Sugilite drinks. A hand wraps around his back, tugging him closer, fingers tracing idle patterns over his waist, mindlessly slipping under the fabric of his shirt, seeking skin.
But it never goes anywhere. Sugilite simply touches him. He watches his documentary-- that Aventurine now realises is about an old economic crash on Lushaka-- and he mindlessly traces over Aventurine’s waist. Lightly dragging his nails over the skin. Lulling Aventurine to sleep.
He’s sure that’s not the intention, but it feels nice to let go.
It works well, better than he would have expected. One moment the screen is on, some old man talking about fiscal policies and the next, when he opens his eyes, there’s darkness. And a hand in his hair. Scratching soothingly at his scalp.
An empty glass on the table, next to an empty bottle of wine.
Sugilite’s steady, evening breathing under his cheek, where Aventurine has somehow nuzzled his way into being pressed up into the crook of his neck.
“You awake?” Sugilite asks him. Still so quietly, his voice barely a whisper. But it’s the only sound in the room beside Aventurine’s own breathing and the comforting rumble of being so close to someone’s throat when they speak. Aventurine can feel the vibrations against his nose.
He nods, as much as he can. But the hand in his hair removes itself, and Aventurine feels the loss greatly.
“Let’s go to bed.” He thinks he hears Sugilite say.
The apartment is dark, and he knows the way, but Aventurine finds himself trailing behind Sugilite anyway. To the kitchen, to put the wine bottle and glass away, and then to the bedroom. Where he’s directed to the bed as Sugilite splits away from him into the bathroom.
Aventurine doesn’t hesitate to climb under the covers. The thick duvet and soft sheets and throw blanket all probably unnecessary with how much Sugilite spends on heating, but it’s the idea of being cosy, he supposes. And Aventurine is very cosy. Half asleep even before Sugilite returns.
He doesn’t make a comment about the towel either. Aventurine at least expected a comment about the towel.
Instead, Sugilite joins him in bed without a word, stripped down to just his boxers. He encourages Aventurine over from the side of the bed he claimed, and lets him tuck himself against Sugilite’s side. Sugilite’s arm slips beneath him, Aventurine’s head pillowed on his bicep as he stretches out and yawns.
Aventurine still feels a little hollow and empty, but at least he thinks there might be a person in there somewhere. Deep down, stuffed under heavy blankets.
He stares at the side of Sugilite’s face as the man closes his eyes. And continues to stare even as he reopens them. Turning his head to the side to look at Aventurine tiredly, trying to figure out what he wants.
Sugilite has never looked quiet so attractive, he thinks. He’s always been attractive, of course, Aventurine wouldn’t sleep with him so often if he didn’t think so, but there’s something about this. The half asleep, slightly wine-drunk, way he’s looking at Aventurine that makes him so much more… appealing.
Aventurine wants to kiss him.
That’s why he came here.
Sugilite wasn’t in the office today and Aventurine had missed him. He wanted to see him. He wanted to kiss him-- to be kissed by him-- to make his horrible day just slightly better.
He finds himself leaning closer in the dark. He wants to sleep, but he wants this more. Sugilite is warm, and so rarely soft. And when their lips brush, he sighs, ever so slightly, and kisses back easily, without hesitation.
He is allowed to want this, he tries to tell himself. Aventurine is allowed to want this.
The kiss is slow and sweet, something shared rather than taken. Something gentle. Aventurine loves it, he can’t get enough of it.
And then Sugilite’s other hand comes up to cup his face as he turns on his side. And Aventurine feels so warm, his face held in the palm of Sugilite’s hand.
He sighs into it, and sighs again, happily, when he’s rolled onto his back. Sugilite’s arm by the side of his head, his body between Aventurine’s thighs. Warm and heavy and crushing him into the mattress.
It's a nice kiss. It's a great kiss. Aventurine doesn't think he's ever had a kiss quite so satisfying. It quiets his train wreck of a mind, fills him with a comfortable sense of belonging and need, settling under his skin like liquid cosyness. His stomach feels warm and fuzzy, head blissfully blank.
And it doesn't feel sexual, either. This position should, this activity should. Both of these things lead to sex between them, but Aventurine doesn’t think it's going that way. Even as he instinctively squeezes Sugilite between his thighs and hooks his ankles over his lower back. Even as Sugilite brushes his hand across his waist, beneath the fabric of his shirt.
But then it’s gone. Just as Aventurine threads his fingers through soft, white hair, Sugilite pulls away. Pressing a final, fleeting kiss to his lips before rolling back over with a groan.
“Go to sleep, honey.”
And Aventurine does.
--
The next time he wakes, Aventurine’s heart is pounding. There’s blood rushing in his ears, sounding much too much like the screams of his tribe. Of harsh sandstorms. Of hiding and playing dead with his sister.
But he stays still, and he stays quiet as he wakes up. Only to find the caution is entirely unnecessary because Sugilite isn’t in bed. Which is strange, certainly. He isn’t one to wake up early, unless Aventurine has woken up late.
What’s even stranger is the entirety of the night before.
Aventurine feels better today. So much better, not as empty and cold and lonely. But he doesn’t want to say Sugilite fixed him, because that seems a little far-fetched. The comfort might have helped though.
Aventurine slips out of bed and wanders into the hallway. Looking for Sugilite.
He wasn’t in the bathroom, the door was open and Aventurine couldn’t hear him in there, and he isn’t in the living room so--
Kitchen.
Making coffee.
And that’s exactly where he finds him, standing at the kitchen counter, cradling a steaming cup of coffee between his hands. He’s wearing the sweatpants again, but only the sweatpants.
He looks up when Aventurine steps into the kitchen, but he still doesn’t seem annoyed or irritated to have him there. Which is very strange.
At least the night before, he might have been able to explain it with the wine. But Sugilite is sober and awake and he isn’t desperate to kick Aventurine out. Very strange,
“Morning,” he greets him, voice rough and tired. “You want coffee?”
Aventurine hesitates as he finds a barstool to sit on. Feet dangling because it’s too high up to be comfortable for short people. “Uh, no thanks,” he says eventually. Even though the smell makes his mouth water and he hasn’t quite woken up fully, sleep still tugging at the edges of his mind… “Actually, maybe I will have some coffee.”
Sugilite nods, like he knew Aventurine was going to change his mind, and fetches another mug from the cupboard. Filling it up with his stupidly expensive coffee machine and topping it off with cream and sugar. Knowing exactly how much of each Aventurine likes without ever even asking.
Aventurine doesn’t want to admit that such a silent, simply act of knowing exactly how he likes his coffee makes his heart skip a beat.
He thanks him when Sugilite passes him the mug, and it tastes perfect.
“What was wrong with you last night?” Sugilite asks then, leaning back against the counter. “You were very quiet.”
It’s still not teasing or mean-- so Aventurine doesn’t mind the conversation. He shakes his head. “Just a bad day,” he says to explain it all away. “Woke up in a bad mood and work did not fix it.”
“You actually went into the office like that?” Sugilite asks him in disbelief. “You need to learn when to use your sick days, Rinnie.”
“You weren’t in,” Aventurine says, avoiding what sounds like concern. Savouring the heat of the coffee between his hands and the rich scent of it filling the kitchen. “Why not?”
Sugilite shrugs. “I woke up late. Couldn’t be bothered to head in and there was no reason for it anyway. I worked a little here.” He shrugs again and drains the rest of his coffee. “You really shouldn’t have gone in, you looked like shit.”
“Thanks, I felt like shit,” Aventurine laughs. But again, there’s that hint of care and concern in Sugilite’s voice again. Proof of something-- though what he doesn’t know. Maybe just more proof that he means something to Sugilite.
“s’that why you came here?”
Aventurine stares into the bottom of his mug. “I guess. I just wanted some company.” He still expects to be mocked for that, but it never comes. Instead, he feels the warmth of Sugilite appearing at his side. A hand on his back, tugging him to lean against his front.
Aventurine leans into it, putting his coffee down so he can appreciate the half-hug
This entire night and day has been so strange. Both of them being quiet, putting aside the usual teasing and cruelty in favour of being kind for once. But Aventurine likes it. Its nice.
It’s different, but it’s nice. He could get used to this if he could get Sugilite like this more often.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sugilite asks him eventually. That is even stranger. Sugilite doesn’t like listening to Aventurine’s problems.
And despite how nice he’s being, that just feels like a trick. So he shakes his head. “No, it’s okay,” he sighs, turning his cheek to press against Sugilite’s stomach.
There’s a short pause, where Aventurine thinks he can feel Sugilite thinking. And then, “Are you sure you’re not just saying that because you think I don’t care?”
Aventurine doesn't want to ask him if he does, because if he says no he might burst into tears. Even though that'd be a stupid reaction and an overreaction-- he's just still a little empty, okay? “You don't normally like to talk about feelings,” he says instead, slightly muffled against Sugilite's skin.
There's another, longer pause, with neither of them saying anything. Because it's true. Sugilite doesn't like to talk about feelings. He doesn't talk about his own, or listen about Aventurine's. He doesn't see the point.
“...Talk to me anyway,” he says.
So Aventurine does. He just… starts talking. Half mumbled against Sugilite's stomach, Sugilite's hand combing through his hair slowly and gently.
He talks until he doesn't have anything else to talk about. About nightmares and guilt and his sister-- Sugilite has never been told about his sister before. He probably didn’t even know Aventurine had a sister.
And when he's done, he feels better. He feels slightly lighter. Sugilite pets over his hair soothingly, never saying a word to interrupt or make it sound like he's bored. He just keeps touching Aventurine. Stroking over his hair, comforting him so kindly.
Aventurine loves it-- he shouldn't and a part of him hates that he loves it, but he does. He doesn’t know if that means he loves Sugilite, or if he just loves what the man can provide him with, but he loves this.
“Thank you,” he sighs, keeping all of those dangerous thoughts inside as he sits back.
Sugilite nods and squeezes the back of Aventurine’s neck comfortingly before he pulls away too and steps back. If Aventurine had to guess, he would say Sugilite feels awkward, and it's almost funny.
Then he leaves the kitchen for the bedroom, leaving Aventurine to his coffee as the shower turns on and Sugilite gets ready for work.
Aventurine doesn't know if he has the stomach for going into work. He might be feeling better, but he still isn't feeling good. And maybe he needs a little time alone to wrap his head around a few new revelations.
When Sugilite returns, he's fully dressed. Straightening the sleeves on his jacket, fixing his tie. Nice and smart. And attractive. Aventurine is still dressed in sweatpants and an oversized shirt.
He stops by Aventurine's side in the kitchen, resting a gloved hand on his back. The leather is cool even through his shirt. “I'm going in today, I have a few things to sign. You have a spare key, you can stay as long as you need, just lock up when you go.”
What a kind thing to say. What a nice offer. Aventurine keeps waiting for the joke, but it never comes, and the longer he waits the more sincere it feels.
“What if I'm still here when you come home?” he asks, ignoring the way his tongue tingles at the word home. Aventurine doesn't have a home. He doesn't think he does at least. Last night was the closest he's ever gotten to feeling at home.
“Well, then you can make yourself useful and make dinner for when I get back,” he says. It's a little more normal, teasing, and he says it with a smile. But it's the silent implication, that he wouldn’t mind if Aventurine stayed here and waited for him to come home. That implication makes him feel things he shouldn't feel for Sugilite.
Aventurine finishes his coffee and stands up. Leaning up on his tip-toes to kiss Sugilite briefly on the lips. “Have a good day.”
Sugilite steals another kiss, pressing Aventurine back against the counter he had been sitting at. A flash of satisfaction seems to cross Sugilite's expression. Perhaps he wants this, he's always been a control freak. Maybe he wants to keep Aventurine in his home, maybe he wants a pet.
…Aventurine could probably be a good pet.
He doesn't let himself overthink that as they separate and Sugilite leaves for work.
And then Aventurine is left alone with his thoughts.